


Reflex

by BlackCatRunning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anaphylaxis, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breathing Exercises, Castiel Has Allergies, Castiel Whump, Castiel cries, Castiel has a huge crush on Dean, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel-centric, Concerned Dean, Concerned Sam, Coughing, Dean sort of reciprocates, Fluff, Hives, Hospitals, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Nose blowing, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Spectates, Season/Series 09, Sick Castiel, Sickfic, Sneezing, Some angst on the side, Swearing, They watch some Star Wars, You know him, but it's okay in the end, he holds his cards close to his chest, it's minor though, subtle Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCatRunning/pseuds/BlackCatRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he's human, Castiel really doesn't like having to ask the Winchesters all the embarrassing questions that come from experiencing mortal life for the first time. But when it comes to his health, perhaps he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Haven’t done any allergic!Cas fics before, and I was looking for something to work on in the midst of terrible homework load/grad school applications xDD. Done for an allergic!Cas prompt.
> 
> Also, this is an alternate timeline where Sam is does not need healed by Ezekiel and human!Cas stays in the bunker with the boys instead of being cruelly kicked out by his negligent soul-partner Dean. I’llneverforgiveyouDean.
> 
> WARNINGS: trigger warnings for anyone sensitive to severe allergic reactions (that require use of an EpiPen), subtle (not established) Destiel, possible spoilers up to season 10, kinda hurt/comfort and a little over the top, but there’s fluff!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I am no expert on anaphylaxis, so if this comes off as amateurish or inaccurate, I sincerely apologize.

Castiel didn’t think he would ever get used to being human. There were so many rules. Sleep at least this long, eat at least this much but not more than that, when you’re bleeding do this, when your head hurts do that, don’t forget to brush your teeth and hair everyday but not with the same brush, change your sheets, bathe regularly. Always use oven mitts. Never leave the fridge open. A stomachache is not the same as stomach cramps which are not the same as a full bladder.

Castiel’s head spun with it all, and usually he had to learn things the hard way. It was painfully embarrassing to be billions of years old and endure Dean’s laughter or chastising depending on what he had done wrong. Sam was more tolerable, but only by a slim degree. The put-upon looks the young Winchester would level Castiel with were far more honest than Dean’s exaggerated eye-rolling.

No, Castiel would much rather muddle through mistakes in privacy. If he burned himself with bacon oil when trying to make Dean breakfast, he would deal with it. If he nicked himself with the razor while shaving, he would deal with it. It was easier than facing lectures from the boys, or worse having to ask them about something. Castiel had gotten more and more bashful about asking questions for some reason, especially when it came to Dean. He supposed it had to do with all the confusing, overwhelming human emotions he had to juggle nowadays. Angelhood had kept him compartmentalized from such things, but now they were all flooding through, as unmanageable as the washer was the time Castiel put in too much soap.

So naturally, when Castiel felt the slow-rising twinges of something unfamiliar and uncomfortable fluttering around at the bridge of his nose, he immediately stiffened. This was the worst possible time for a physiology lesson. At the moment, Castiel was finally getting some long-overdue pop culture training. Dean and Sam, on the grounds of needing a “day to chill,” had forced Castiel into the living room to watch Star Wars. Sam’s huge body occupied the cushy recliner, while Dean and Castiel sat side-by-side on the couch.

Castiel wasn’t complaining about the lack of distance between the two of them. Dean’s warm thigh rested against his, and their shoulders were touching. Both sets of hands were in their laps, but Dean’s were slowly migrating toward his knees. The whole business of it gave Castiel a strange, pleasurable sensation in his gut which wasn’t unlike nausea, only painless. It was hard to focus on that lazy feeling when there was a new, fast-approaching one emerging from what seemed like Castiel’s sinuses.

Dean felt Castiel get tense against him, and glanced at his friend out of his peripheral vision. Castiel set his jaw, feeling Dean’s bright, green-…rather lovely eyes on him. It was true that Castiel had never really seen Dean as just any other human; that much was clear to almost everyone who had seen them together. However, the delicate blush that would heat Castiel’s cheeks every time they were close hadn’t always been there.

Dean whispered to him, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake Sam, who was dozing. “Relax, man. Han Solo’s too much of a bad ass to die.”

Castiel could see the princess and the pilot giving tearful, dramatic goodbyes to one another in the cryogenic chamber, but he couldn’t muster any worry or sympathy – merely panic at the thought something biologically unseemly was about to happen in front of Dean. The itch in his nose just wouldn’t quit. Castiel’s eyelashes shuttered as fought to keep his eyes open. He did his best to focus on the movie in hopes he could distract both himself and Dean.

“Does…” Castiel’s breath caught, and his mouth dropped open with the sudden jump in the tickle. Talking acted as a catalyst to the reaction, and Castiel closed his eyes tightly against it. Dean’s own green orbs widened.

“… Cas?”

Either his head was going to explode from the rising pressure, or Dean was going to realize something was wrong. One of them was inevitable, and Castiel would have rather it been the first so he wouldn’t be sentient when Dean lectured him on the process.

“Does the pilot love the princess?” he asked through a haze, trying to concentrate.

As Cas wrinkled and un-wrinkled his nose, frowning through slitted eyes, Dean was very slowly coming to a frightening deduction: Castiel was going to cry because he thought Hans and Leia didn’t give a shit about each other.

“Dude, of course he does,” he said, trying to be soothing for the moment, awkward as it was, in hopes he could avoid the waterworks. Dean honestly had no idea what he would do if Castiel started balling over a perfectly cliché love story. “Just because he ain’t saying it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.”

There was a moment when both men looked at one another, and then looked away. Though Castiel had not received much instruction on detecting social tension in a room, even he knew the air had gone from relaxed to awkward just from that question and answer alone. Castiel couldn’t say he knew exactly why.

The itch in his nose gained sudden ground during the interlude, and all Castiel could do was snag a huge breath as the tingling ballooned. His lung strained, head jogging back as he hitched through near-silent breaths. Dean reached and put a hand on Castiel’s thigh, concerned, but suddenly realized what was happening just as Castiel felt the feeling pop.

He snapped forward with a sneeze that surprised them both. It was an embarrassingly squeaky sound that made Cas’s eyes open wide afterward. The pressure immediately gave way to a momentary relief, until he felt the urge come on stronger and faster than before. Castiel tossed his head back, mouth agape, and then fell into the second sneeze that was just as high-pitched.

Sam startled awake on the recliner, bleary-eyed. “Whazzat? Wha?”

Dean, meanwhile, was laughing his ass off. Castiel sniffled to recover, palming his nose with the heel of his hand with an almost instinctive urgency. The inside of his nose tingled with an almost enjoyable aftershock.

“I don’t know what’s better,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Your girly-ass sneezes or the look on your face after ‘em.”

“Castiel sneezed?” Sam asked. He rubbed a large hand over his face and smirked at Castiel, who was starting to sink against the couch cushions. “For a second I thought someone stepped on a squeak toy.”

That just started Dean up again, and Castiel’s expression tightened into a Sam-esque bitchface. He had tried his best to keep it from happening, but apparently he shouldn’t have bothered. No matter what he did, somehow he ended up the butt of someone’s joke. Dean noticed the pinch in Castiel’s shoulders, and reached over to pat one of them.

“Aw, come on, Cas.” He couldn’t help grinning, but tried very hard not to. Darting his eyes to the still snickering Sam didn’t help. “We’re just messing with you. That was your first sneeze, right?”

“I suppose,” Castiel replied, still icy. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to have this conversation because every time the brothers assured him they weren’t taking amusement at his expense, they did it anyway. Still, his curiosity got the better of him. “A sneeze… that’s what happened, just now?”

“Yeah,” Sam said as he adjusted his position. One of his legs had fallen asleep. “You know what that is, don’t you?

“Of course I do.” Castiel puffed up again, defensive. Dean just smiled at him, which only made him more frustrated at this point. “It is a reaction of the body to a foreign stimulus. Until now, I have just.. n-never.. experie-…” He trailed off, snagging a sudden breath, and then bending over his knees with yet another loud, chirping sneeze.

Castiel had felt it verging on him, but his determination to finish his statement made him try to overcome it. He tried again as he felt a second one coming along, attempting to neutralize the need before it began. Both boys offered a chorus of dawwww as they watched Castiel crinkle and wriggle his nose, but the ex-angel ignored them. Even with every ounce of his impressive willpower set against it, his lungs insisted on seizing breath, his nose continued to spasm, and his body defied him. So it happened again. His eyes were vaguely watery in the aftermath, and he rubbed at one of them with the corner of his sleeve.

“Man, who taught you how to sneeze like that?” Dean asked, endeared despite the fact Castiel’s outbursts were pretty wet and the man had no idea he was supposed to cover his mouth. “Do angels just naturally sneeze like peeping chicks?”

“It contrasts well with your deep voice, Castiel,” Sam complimented, earning another round of chuckling from Dean.

Rather than pursue the mysteries of sneezing, Castiel shot up from his seat on the couch and dragged his arm beneath his nose as he did so. Dean tried to snatch his wrist, but Castiel caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and deflected.

“Cas, take it easy,” Dean said, face now quite serious. “We were really just kidding. Don’t be dramatic.”

But Castiel wasn’t being dramatic. He was being human, and that was already aimless and weakening, without the constant reminder that he was new at it. Why did it even matter what his sneeze sounded like? It would be Dean to latch onto something completely meaningless and make it an event, all the while getting Sam to help him.

Castiel stomped off to his room before either of them had the chance to make him feel any stupider, closing his door with more force than was probably necessary. Now alone, he heaved a sigh and crossed his arms, perching on the edge of his bed. After a few minutes of silence, Castiel slowly began to regret acting so irrationally toward the brothers. In fact, they teased one another in similar ways out of what Castiel had come to assume was love… strange how quickly human emotions get the best-

Castiel suddenly tossed his head back, bending forward with enough force to stand up and stagger a few steps forward with another back-breaking sneeze. While it wasn’t entirely unwelcome – the aftershock of a sneeze was actually rather nice – Castiel did wish he knew why he was doing it all of a sudden. He could ask Sam or Dean, but even though he felt guilty about overreacting, he still couldn’t comfortably approach them about it. Castiel had always been inferior in terms of human-related knowledge, but now he was their underling in almost every way possible. He wasn’t strong, he wasn’t fast, he had no idea how to use weapons, he had limited experience in actually hunting and wasn’t good at it anyway, and so on.

So, yes. This sneezing business could be handled without their assistance. In fact, Castiel thought suddenly, he could use this as an opportunity to learn without them. He didn’t need them hovering over him, constantly criticizing his choices and informing him of what he should be doing. His attempts at making his own decisions had not ended well in the past, but this was such a small one, there was no way he could ruin it. With no desire to rejoin the brothers right now until he sorted this out, Castiel decided to analyze his condition.

Laying down on his back and settling against the bed mattress, Castiel took a long, deep breath through his nose. His breath made a slight whistling noise, and he could feel a slight, suctioning pull toward the back of his nose. It felt like there was less room, or his airways were obstructed. Odd. But the air electrified his nasal membranes, causing shivers of irritation. He flinched with a sudden, hard sneeze. And again… And again. They were coming at an increasing frequency.

Castiel scrunched his face in distaste. His nose was uncomfortably full now, brimming with-… well, whatever it is that Dean and Sam blow out of their heads once in a while when they catch colds. Castiel knew the scientific names for such fluids, but didn’t bother with it. He had to worry about the more practical matter of getting a tissue. There were none in the room, and he didn’t want to step out, so Castiel regrettably resorted to his shirt sleeve. Sam hated it when Dean did the same thing, but no one was around to correct him about it. Thank goodness.

No amount of wiping would stem the flow, unfortunately, so Castiel just did what he could until he felt less wet. It was at this time Castiel felt an unusual dry itch in his eyes. Blinking didn’t help, and while rubbing at them with his fists brought relief, it was only temporary. In the midst of his eye rubbing, Cas suffered through yet another sneezing spell that had him flinching up on the mattress in intervals, hardly able to stop. Once it was over, he had to battle for breath.

He suddenly felt a little tired, having come to recognize the feeling after so many nights of simply passing out unexpectedly regardless of where he was. Rather than risk dozing off in a common area – and because he had almost nothing to do instead anyway – Castiel closed his eyes for a little while.

He didn’t even hear Dean crack the door to peek his head in an hour later, wanting to see if Castiel would take a burger for dinner as a peace offering. He didn’t get the see the soft smile on the hunter’s face as he eased the door shut again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam looked up from his plate of salad, stabbing his fork through some leaves and a baby tomato as Dean thumped down in the chair across from him. “Cas still pissed?”

“Nah, probably not,” Dean said, gathering up his burger. It was packed with so many condiments and dressings, the thing was practically falling apart. Sam gave the dripping hunk of meat a look of dismay that bordered on bitchy.

“Probably?” the younger Winchester prompted.

“He’s sleeping,” Dean said, and then took a bite. Even as he said it though, it rubbed him the wrong way. It was barely 8PM, and while Castiel tended to turn in earlier than they did, he wasn’t that much of an early sleeper.

Sam was similarly suspicious. “Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Dean remarked through a mouth of food, which encouraged Sam to slide his plate closer to himself, presumably to preserve the sanctity of his meal or something. Dean swallowed, then sighed. “You don’t think he’s coming down with something do you?”

Sam shrugged. “Could be. Those sneezes came out of nowhere today.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned. Castiel was a moody teenager when he was healthy and sober. Dean did not want to see the guy jacked up with a cold. On a more hidden, mushy, embarrassing note, Dean didn’t want Castiel feeling sick period. Any germ stupid enough to invade his little buddy’s body was going to answer to Dean Fucking Winchester.

But to keep up his very platonic, very masculine identity, Dean made sure to add, “That would be real shitty of him.”

Sam snorted, putting down his fork to look over at a book he had opened near him. Just like Sam to study through meals even when they weren’t on an official hunt. “Not his fault if he’s sick, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, taking another bite. The brothers ate in silence for a while, enjoying the company and the lack of residual panic that usually never left their minds. It was nice to soak up the moment sometimes, when there was a time and a place to do it. They ate, dinner ended, dishes were cleaned, and eventually room lights were switched off. The conversation was left unfinished, but somehow, it didn’t really matter. They would revisit it when it did.

In other words, they would revisit it immediately the next morning.


	2. The Next Morning

Castiel slept through the night without moving an inch, which was abnormal behavior for him. However, upon waking, he wished he had just kept on sleeping. The levels of awareness hit him slowly, one by one, the most urgent of those being the absolutely unstoppable need to sneeze.

Which he did. Multiple times, very quickly in succession.

They tore at his sinuses and throat, jarring him into wakefulness and alerting Castiel to just how terrible he really felt. The center of his face was just a solid block of throbbing congestion, a sensation that echoed up into his head. His headache didn’t pound; it rang like a steady, shrill note that wouldn’t give him even a split second of relief. His eyes felt a little gooey when he opened them, lashes sticking together, and at once he sent his fists digging at them. Both of them burned and prickled, and he rubbed furiously at an itch that wouldn’t be relieved. He could also detect itching along his collarbone, his hips, the insides of his elbows and knees… If all that wasn’t enough, his chest felt tight and his breathing carried a heavy wheeze that made it hard to get a full breath.

Sitting up, the shift got him lightheaded and mess dribbled over his upper-lip. His breath hitched without his permission, but the need was so fierce, Castiel couldn’t hope to hold it back. Head tilting back, he sneezed openly.

It hung on the air for just a moment, and then he took another breath and sneezed again. A third. A fourth. He couldn’t seem to stop, and it was making him dizzy, not to mention dirty. Again he raked fists at his eyes, gritting his teeth at the pain of it but unwilling to stop because it was helping a little. Castiel moaned, feeling disgusting, exhausted, and just generally terrible.

He was gearing up for another sneeze, eyes closed and head jogging back, when there was a knock on his door. In a moment of panic, Castiel pinched his nose shut by reflex. The sneeze ricocheted around in his head, and his headache nearly blinded him.

“Castiel?” It was Sam’s voice. “You awake yet?”

“Don’d comb ind!!” Castiel said, and then winced. His voice sounded threadbare from sleep, not to mention all the sneezing he’d been doing. Clearing his throat and swallowing around the uncomfortable feeling of a swelling esophagus, Castiel tried again. “I’b-.. dot-.. dressed-..?” He’d noticed both brothers were quick to retreat if someone was without clothes, so he figured it was a solid plan.

Sam was quiet on the other end of the door. Castiel couldn’t tell if it was because he was onto Castiel, or if Sam just couldn’t understand a word he was saying. “Uh.. you missed dinner, so you probably should grab some breakfast. Dean’s just about done cooking.”

“Yes, thag you!” Castiel said breathily, hoping Sam would leave so he could stop holding the sneezes in. It was one of the most uncomfortable sensations in the world. Luckily the Winchester left, footsteps dissipating, just in time for the real comeback. Castiel gasped straight to his toes.

The first sneeze nearly took him apart, shaking him to his foundations as he practically shouted it, and then dissolved into smaller, rapid expulsions. By the time he was finished, Castiel found himself wishing it was night again, if only so he could sleep another 8 hours without arousing suspicion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Sam walked in, Dean looked up from the stove as he fried his eggs.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“He’s coming,” Sam hedged, sinking into his seat at the table. “But he sounds like complete shit.”

“Dammit,” Dean said to his eggs, reaching up to scratch angrily at the back of his head. He supposed he shouldn’t be all that surprised. Cas was human now and probably had an immune system as strong as a paper house.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said in agreement, rubbing one of his temples. “We don’t have time for this. I wanted us to get back on the hunting horse by tomorrow.”

Dean paused as he turned some bacon with a spatula. He hadn’t thought about their hunting duties being postponed by Castiel’s illness. Usually if one of them was sick, they didn’t say a thing about it and simply pushed through until they either died or felt better. But… some piece of Dean’s heart chilled when he thought about forcing Castiel outside into the autumn air because they didn’t trust him in the bunker alone.

“He’d be okay on his own, right?” Dean asked. Even that was an arrow to his gut. Abandoning Castiel when he was sick seemed like an even douchier thing to do.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said. His brother was skimming this morning’s paper, presumably looking for weird deaths or occurrences nearby. “He’s never been sick before.”

“I’b dot sick,” said a petulant, but weak voice by the hallway. Both brothers looked up, and the burning shock of what they saw pushed Sam to his feet. Castiel, who was perfectly fine yesterday, looked a million times worse than how he sounded.

His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the area around them hooded with deep red shadow and the corners crusted with residue. The area around his nose was chapped from rough fabric treatment, the nostrils glistening and twitchy. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, matted at the edges. One of his hands kept straying to his throat, and the brothers could hear why – it didn’t sound as if he could properly breathe. And his shirt, from his sleeves to the front of it, was stained patchy like Cas had been using it as a substitute tissue. Castiel was revolting this morning, but more than that, he was pitiful. And very worrying.

“Oh my god, Cas,” Sam breathed, advancing on him with such speed that Castiel actually cowered back for just a second in reflex. Sam was kind of huge, after all. Dean switched off all the valves on the stove and came over himself, taking Castiel’s face by his jaw to get a closer look.

“Is this – ? Sammy, what is this?”

“Some kind of severe allergic reaction,” Sam said, distracted by what he was surveying. Castiel’s lips were parted so he could breath, nose wrinkling as he felt the subtle start of yet another sneezing fit. Castiel groaned because he didn’t want to, and Dean’s big-brother instincts flew into overdrive.

“Cas? Cas, you oka – ”

He was interrupted by Cas pitching forward, trembling with the force of a long, rapid-fire spell. Both brothers stood by, unsure of what to do at first, but Castiel’s body was sagging from the effort. Without a word, they hooked his arms over their shoulders to keep him upright, and felt him pant hard and fast against them as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit,” Sam was saying. “Dean, Dean, he…”

Castiel couldn’t hear Sam well over his gasping, as he tried to get something into his lungs. Dean saw that his lips weren’t turning blue, so somehow he was still managing to get enough air. Still, the panicked way the ex-angel was heaving inhales, tugging at the collar of his shirt, meant he was pretty freaked. When the edge of the fabric came down far enough for Sam and Dean to see the angry, hive-ridden rash on Castiel’s clavicles and chest, someone made an executive decision.

“Hold him,” Sam said, and then he practically vaulted himself across the room. Dean was left clinging to Castiel, who was getting more terrified by the second. The proximity to a guy who was sneezing his head off and dripping with the aftermath of it wasn’t pretty, but Dean could look past it. At a complete loss, he tried to sit Castiel down at the kitchen table.

“Deep breaths, bud,” Dean said, watching him take shallow ones. He crouched in front of him, trying to catch Castiel’s eyes. They were foggy with exhaustion. “Come on, man. Look, inhale.”

Dean took a long breath through his mouth, trying to encourage Castiel to do the same. It worked for maybe a second until his breath got snatchy, and then Cas braced a hand on Dean’s shoulder for both stability and in an effort to get his friend out of the way as he began to cough.

“Again,” Dean demanded, holding Castiel still with hands on both his shoulders. Castiel shook his head a little, wheezing.

“Too buch,” he rasped. “I can’d –..” Castiel trailed off, coughing deep and hard, unable to make any headway in the breathing department. He moaned once more, hands reaching up to rub at his tortured eyes. Dean caught his wrists and held them back, earning himself a desperate look from the ex-angel.

“Can’t let you do that, man,” Dean sad in way of apology. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Bud-..”

“No,” Dean said, definitive, and turned his face away. Where Sam had gone? Castiel was still fighting for a decent pocket of air, and Dean was getting more anxious by the second. More thumping, hollow coughs reminded him of the now.

“Inhale, deep, come on,” Dean said, demonstrating. He managed to get Castiel to take a decent, hitching breath before he barreled forward with yet another sneeze.

“Good, good. Again, you got this.”

Inhale. Cas sneezed again.

“Doing awesome, Cas. Another one.”

Inhale. This time, however, Castiel got caught in a rather bad fit that didn’t stop until he was well up to seven or eight sneezes. Dean waited there, tense, silently urging them to end much faster than they did.

Shit. Dean didn’t think Castiel’s throat was going to close completely or anything, but these fits made it impossible for him to breathe properly. Once he got rolling, Castiel couldn’t get enough in between to sustain himself. Dean made a promise to never, ever laugh at the sound of someone’s sneezes again. Girly though they were, Cas’s sneezes were on the mild side of lethal.

 _“Dean-!”_ That’s all Castiel managed to get out before he started coughing again, the sound congested and thick due to an obnoxiously stuffy nose.

Castiel calling for his help with real fear in his voice set Dean’s nerves on ice. He decided right then that he would do whatever he could to prevent Castiel from saying his name like that in the future.

“Easy, take it easy, man,” Dean soothed, voice much calmer than he felt. Was Cas going into anaphylactic shock? Was he going to die right here at the kitchen table, to allergies? Dean snatched a napkin from nearby, pressing it to Cas’s nose. “Blow, okay? Get some of that shit out of you.”

Castiel didn’t need to be told twice, blowing hard with gurgling results, and Dean grimaced. Tossing the used one it to the floor, Dean sprung to the counter and grabbed a stack, pressing another to Cas’s mouth and nose just as he wrenched with another sneeze.

“Again, big breath, come on,” Dean said. Castiel followed his orders like the soldier he was, huffing out what seemed to be gallons of fluid. It was almost impressive, if it wasn’t so nasty. They went through nearly twelve napkins before Castiel started coming up dry, and by then the ex-angel was groggy and pliant.

But, he wasn’t sneezing or coughing anymore, or at least not as frequently. Dean counted that as a win. Just then, Sam crashed back into the kitchen with what looked to be a little grey first-aid kit. Flipping it open, he started setting a syringe. Dean paled.

“Uh, Sammy?”

“Take his pants off, Dean.”

_“What!?”_

“Now!”

Blushing to his ears, Dean tried to get through it as soon as possible. Luckily Castiel was wearing sweat pants, so Dean only had to ease Castiel off the chair a little and shuck them down to his ankles. Stepping back, Dean felt his heart jump when Sam pushed up the edge of Castiel’s boxers on his right leg.

“Don’t move, okay Cas? It’s going to pinch,” Sam said, and then he pushed the needle in. Dean had seen enough movies to know that was an EpiPen, but where Sam had managed to find one in this old place, he had no idea. Castiel’s expression wrinkled, but he immediately started breathing freer as soon as the deed was done.

Dean blinked. “Where did you-?”

“The Men of Letters had some epinephrine laying around, luckily,” Sam said, two fingers to Castiel’s neck to check his pulse. It was weak and fast, but getting stronger. Castiel himself looked pink-faced and wilting. Sam had a hand on his thigh to keep him from sliding out of the chair. Dean couldn’t explain it, but something about how tired and small he looked in that chair made him want to stand guard.

“I don’d like this,” Castiel said, voice absolutely spent. The vibration of talking made him start to cough, and Dean moved over to rub the top of his shoulders.

“Yeah, neither do we, buddy,” he said. Sam stood up and started to ease Castiel to his feet as well. Dean stiffened. “What are you doing?”

Sam gave his brother a confused stare. “What do you mean? Dean, Castiel just had a pretty severe allergic reaction. We have to take him to the hospital.”

“Doe hospital,” Castiel grunted, swollen eyes closed. There were tear tracks down both sides of his face from his sneezing and coughing fits. Dean couldn’t stop himself from rubbing one of them away, thumbing at it. Castiel’s head tilted just slightly into his hand.

“Sorry,” Dean said as Castiel opened his eyes to look up at him. His blue, blue, bloodshot eyes. “You’re overruled.”

There was a moment when Castiel and Dean just soul-stared until Sam cleared his throat. It was like a jump-start to an idling engine, revving Dean with purpose as he moved away to grab his wallet and keys. They were all still in their pajamas, but somehow it didn’t even matter.


	3. In the Hospital

Castiel did not like hospitals. He had not enjoyed them the first time he visited one to see the sick, and had enjoyed his occasional admittance to them even less. Back when he was an angel, he had been able to see all of the reapers that lurk behind corners and stand in the dark. With human eyes, he could perceive them no longer, and that only made him even more nervous. He kept his hands balled into fists, knuckles stark white against the ghostly sheets. Dean and Sam were not here yet.

He swallowed. It hurt.

The rush to the hospital and the ensuing chaos were blurry to Castiel, which he did not like. All occasions indistinct to him tended to be things he needed to know but didn’t want to, or things he had once known but never wanted to know again.

Castiel looked around his room, trying to blink and not blink, because his eyes were prickling and sore. They no longer itched, which was a blessing, but he supposed he may have rubbed too much or too vigorously before. Looking down at himself, Castiel found the residual rashes in the creases of his elbows and felt the bumps of them along his throat. The flesh was irritated and sensitive there, but not painfully burning anymore. He couldn’t recall specifically, but he might have been washed at some point. His clothes had been replaced with a papery hospital gown, and the mucky layer to his skin from that morning was gone now. It was only this moment that he realized he had forgotten to bathe for a day or two. Castiel closed his eyes, shifting against the flat, waifer-thin pillow behind him.

Dean and Sam had probably gone back to the bunker. He was alone, and would likely stay alone. Maybe they would call.

It felt so similar to the last time he had been hospitalized, just after he blasted himself and his brothers to kingdom come with that banishing symbol X-ACTO-knifed into his chest. He had called Dean, and the hunter had only sounded disappointed Castiel couldn’t be there when he needed him. Castiel had been disappointed too – still was. What kind of angel was he if he couldn’t be there for Dean when he called?

Well, he wasn’t an angel anymore. It probably didn’t matter now. Now that Castiel thought about it, he had caused nothing but trouble for the brothers lately. So many of his decisions had been unwise, damaging, selfishly disguised as selflessness, and just generally not thought through. Once in a while, someone would say something to assure him he wasn’t any less valued because of his mistakes. But humans lie, don’t they? They lie all the time. To them, he was only worth as much as he could do, which at the moment, was barely anything at all.

Inexplicably, Castiel’s throat started getting tight and his eyes began to water. Panicking, he thought his body was trying to suffocate him again, which only made the feelings worse. The wetness hurt his eyes, stinging the delicate surface of them as tears budded and bloomed. His chest was so heavy and thick, lungs burning for something inside them. Gripping the sheets, Castiel opened his mouth to breathe deep. That didn’t happen. Instead, he made a soft, shaky noise of distress, and some of the pressure in his throat and head dissipated. Gasping, he did it again, and again, and it wasn’t until the tenth or eleventh time that Castiel realized he was sobbing. The awareness startled him into stopping, chest heaving.

His nose was running, an unwelcome sensation, and Castiel scoffed at the annoyance of it. Almost everything seemed to make the damn thing leak. He reached up to touch his nose, but met resistance; there was a plastic covering, or something, in the way. For the first time, Castiel noticed he was outfitted with an oxygen mask, as well as an IV poking into his right arm. Panting, Castiel felt his heart pounding, making him dizzy as blood rushed in his ears. He simultaneously wanted to go home, and knew he had no home; the conflict made his chest get tight again, but he closed his eyes hard and fought it.

Sniffling until the minimal moisture in his nose cleared, Castiel tried to sit up. There was a weight on his chest, suddenly, more than usual. Someone was touching him. Opening his eyes, Castiel couldn’t have been more shocked to see Dean Winchester with a palm holding him down, green eyes shining like jewels. For a moment, neither one of them said anything; they just stared at one another, Castiel blinking much more than usual to clear his vision and make sure Dean wasn’t just a figment of drugs or his imagination.

“Going somewhere?” Dean asked, voice quiet but not soft.

Castiel’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. In lieu of words, Castiel just let his elbows slide on the sheets so he could lay flat again. Dean’s warm reassurance on his chest, even though his lungs felt encumbered enough without it, gave the ex-angel a sense of safety. He had never really needed that before.

Feeling dizzy, Castiel closed his eyes again, but settled a hand over Dean’s to keep it from disappearing – personal space be damned. Dean’s hand was so warm, so he supposed his own was probably quite cold. He felt his human go rigid at first, and then gradually relax. The bed dipped and creaked when Dean sat on its edge.

“Not goin’ anywhere, man,” he said in that same tone, sighing after. The hand patted him a few times, and Castiel’s breath jittered. He was weak. Castiel felt so weak. That alone was enough to make him want to start sobbing again, but he didn’t. With his free hand, Castiel started pawing the evidence of crying off his face.

It was around this time Sam said, “Hey, Castiel.”

Castiel opened his eyes again, but it was getting harder every time. Even that short bout of tears had made his eyes dry and achy. He did manage a small smile behind his mask, which must have looked really unsightly because Dean rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked away.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said. His voice sounded muffled behind the mask, not to mention torn to pieces from all the abuse his throat underwent. Sam’s own smile turned sad.

“How’re you feeling?”

Castiel took a moment to consider his body, the circumstances, what he was feeling. But when he looked at Sam – leaning forward in an uncomfortable, tiny chair, unblinking – and Dean – still patting his chest occasionally – Castiel could only think of one answer.

“Better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

There was a stretch of silence where there was nothing to listen to but Castiel’s wheezing breath and the sound of the respirator. When no one seemed keen to speak, Castiel decided he should probably say something, given his probably irrational, emotional outburst earlier at the bunker and just a moment ago as well. He didn’t know if the brothers had seen the second one; he hoped not. It took him a little longer to speak than usual because his breathing was irregular.

“I apologize for… for being so short with… you two yesterday. My reaction… was uncalled for.”

Sam looked a little surprised, but it was Dean who spoke first, looking down at him with a sour look.

“Seriously? You nearly die in our kitchen, scare us half to death, end up in the Soul-Collection bin, and you’re still thinking about your hissy fit?” Dean stared at him, presumably waiting for an answer.

Castiel gave him the only one he had. “Yes.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said. “How many times do you think Samantha over there has run out of the room because I was being ‘insensitive’?”

Sam’s flashed a bitchface, but Dean only had eyes for Castiel, who tiredly shrugged. He didn’t know; from Dean’s inflection and Sam’s expression, it sounded like many. Before Dean could speak again, Castiel did. His honesty and willingness to be vulnerable blindsided even him, but the ex-angel couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out.

“I am glad you.. you came,” he confessed. “I thought you l-… left me here.”

The whole mood of the room changed, but Castiel couldn’t be bothered to tell what new emotions his humans were feeling now. He was exhausted enough trying to deal with just his own. Frustratingly, he realized he would refer to the brothers as _his humans_ , when he was just a human himself. They were not really his, either.

At some point, Castiel’s eyes had closed again. He felt Dean patting his chest, and the hunter was saying, “Naw, man. Don’t be such a baby.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Castiel. The Winchesters were here, and that was enough too. He squeezed Dean’s fingers a little, still keeping his eyes closed so he couldn’t see the man’s expression. But when Dean’s hand twitched a little under his, Castiel wondered what it had been. Sam cleared his throat, and then there was some fumbling of sheets and chair legs sliding on the floor. After a moment, the low noise Castiel now associated with the television filled the room. Dean kept on patting his chest, and the rhythm became something Castiel could depend on. Things passed in this way for quite a while, and finally, he felt like he could relax.

At least until he felt the tentative prod of something at the start of his nasal passages. Frowning, Castiel quickly raised a hand to touch his nose, perhaps pinch it or rub it, but again forgot he was wearing an oxygen mask. Immediately his eyes opened and Castiel began to take it off. Dean’s hand left his chest, hooking like a claw over the patient’s busy wrist.

“You leave that fucking thing on,” Dean said. His voice was actually mildly terrifying, and Castiel turned wide eyes to him while Sam smirked behind the curtain of his hair. Both he and his brother had been debriefed on Castiel’s condition on the way over, and Mama Bear Dean wasn’t about to let a single thing go wrong on his watch.

“But, Dean,” Castiel tried to reason with him, feeling the tickle melt and wash down his nose. His breath caught, eyelashes fluttering. “.. I – ”

The urge was coming on very quickly, and it surprised Castiel. When would this stop? His weak breath caught, and unable to help himself, Castiel flinched forward and sneezed.

Right after, Castiel groaned and sunk back, lungs already getting testy from just the one. And sneezing into a mask was by far one of the most uncomfortable things Castiel had ever felt, so he wrenched it off despite Dean’s orders, when he felt the hair-trigger irritation of another. Castiel raised his hands to catch it, cupping them just an inch from his nose and mouth.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Castiel’s eyes were clouding with tears, his ribs clenching with a resistance that spoke of how sore they were, and his breath was already getting away from him. He couldn’t catch it, and the weight of it was heavy in his chest. Again and again and again, he sneezed.

Dean didn’t let it get far. Between pounding the Nurse Call button and wrenching open the door to shout, any possible biphasic anaphylaxis didn’t have a chance to start. Sam kept a big, cool palm over Castiel’s forehead, whispering soft things to him while he moaned through the jumping, choking breath his lungs were dragging in, throat beginning to inflate.

Dean was soon by his side as well, grabbing his hand. Castiel could only squint through watery, puffy eyes, and it was hard to discern the moving shapes as a few weak coughs made his eyes zip closed.

The nurses hurried in without delay, and the brothers were shooed out immediately. It took a little coaxing because Castiel was extremely unwilling to let go of Dean’s hand, and it made the elder Winchester hate himself to let go. They ended up in the hallway eventually, Dean sliding down the wall to sit, head in his hands. Sam slowly followed suit.

“Dammit,” Dean breathed. “Dude can’t catch a break..”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He had done reading on biphasic anaphylaxis, and when and how it happened. True, it could come out of nowhere, but Castiel’s particular condition would seem more likely to flare when exposed to the allergen. But really, what did Sam know.

Sitting in silence for some time, lost in thought, both of them jumped when a nurse crouched in front of them. She was holding a clipboard, and looked like one of the familiar faces that had been tending to Cas.

“Winchesters?” she asked.

Dean was immediately alert. “That’s us.”

“Castiel’s allergy test results have come in,” she told them as she stood up again. Both brothers did the same, Dean leering closer to try and get a premature look at the chart. The nurse tilted the clipboard so he could see better, but continued talking. “None of the usual allergies, surprisingly, but I must ask. Have you started using a new detergent at home?”

That gave the boys pause. Sam furrowed his brow, trying to remember exactly, but Dean answered without any delay. “Yeah, I picked up some of the cheap, store brand stuff last week.”

“Did you wash your clothes in it?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said.

“Sheets?”

“Uh… yeah.” Dean’s voice was getting smaller.

“That would be it.” She flipped through the file on her clipboard to be sure, but seemed fairly confident about her diagnosis. “Castiel has chemical sensitivities, likely set off by the detergent. He’s been wearing it, sleeping in it, probably spending a lot of time with both of you, who are also covered in it. I’m almost certain that’s why he had another reaction just now.”

Cas was in proximity to the things that were compromising his health. Namely, Dean and Sam. Both Winchesters looked down at themselves, Dean more alarmed than Sam was about the situation. It would be a pain, but this would mean they had to wash every last shred of fabric in the bunker to get the old soap out.

No wonder Castiel had looked like death warmed over this morning. He had been swaddled in the shit he was allergic to all night long. Dean felt a little itchy himself now; he wanted out of his clothes. Sam raised his brows, unsure if Dean wasn’t about to strip down in the hospital then and there.

Intuitive and kind, the nurse smiled. “We have a shower and scrubs in the breakroom,” she said, “if you would like to wash off and spend more time with him. His reaction today was caught early enough to prevent any real damage.”

The boys shared a look, negotiating, and it was decided. Dean would stay here with Cas, and Sam would head out to the store and start Cas-proofing the bunker. And something in Dean’s eyes told Sam that if he didn’t get the absolute most hypoallergenic _everything_ while he was out, there would be hell to pay.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In shower, Dean scrubbed his skin until it turns pink, and even washed his hair with what seemed to be very bland, very chemical-free shampoo. No way he was chancing another bad reaction from Cas. He already felt pretty shitty for setting the angel off twice before.

His hair was still a little damp as he walked down the hall, only feeling just a tiny bit ridiculous in his lilac scrubs. Cas, awake but groggy, ogled him when slipped back into his room. Dean was glad to see him looking alert, even though his face is still blotchy from his last allergy attack.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, pasting on a smile. He was not really faking it either. Castiel’s considering, almost suspicious gaze at Dean’s clothing amused the hunter. “Feeling okay?”

He settled himself back on the bed and easily took Castiel’s hand in his. Without Sam around, with no windows in the room and no curious nurses peeking in, Dean felt entitled enough to touch Castiel. To make sure he was okay.

“I feel better,” he rasped, swallowing against an irritable throat. He didn’t sound much better, but the quickly-administered medicine had kept him from choking himself this time around. Dean was rubbing his thumb along Castiel’s hand, and the ex-angel glanced down to watch.

Automatically Dean stopped, feeling caught. “Uh, sorry, I can…” When he started to pull away, Cas gripped him tight and refused to let go.

“No,” he said, blue eyes finding green. “That feels soothing. I… like it when you do that.”

Not many words were said after that. They didn’t need them. It took Sam around six hours to get everything washed and dried, and when he finally hoofed it back to the hospital, he wasn’t surprised to find Dean slumped in his chair, Cas slumped in bed, both asleep with hands still united.


End file.
